Page 1 of Single Pucking Orc

CHAPTER 1

“Ihave a daughter?”

The words came out of Rognar’s mouth like they belonged to someone else. Some other orc. Some other male who hadn’t walked into George Barrington Jr.’s office less than an hour ago expecting to sign something about an endorsement deal or a lawsuit or anything but this.

The baby stared up at him.

She sat in a padded carrier on the chair beside him, and she was, without question, the single most serious person Rognar had ever encountered. She had light green skin and a great deal of dark hair standing straight up from her head, and her ears came to soft points that folded over at the tips. Her eyes were enormous and very dark, and they took up most of her face. So did her cheeks. When she pulled her fist out of her mouth, two tiny white points showed at her lower gum.

Tusks. She had tusks coming in. Something about that made his chest ache in a completely unexpected way.

Her eyes were fixed on him with the unblinking scrutiny of a referee reviewing a questionable hit.

“She’s six months old,” George said, clearing his throat. He was a thin, studious human in a pristine navy suit with sparse grey hair combed neatly over the place where there was no hair. “Her name is Charlotte. Her mother called her Charlie.”

“Her mother. Val.” He finally managed to drag his gaze away from the baby. “You said Val is⁠—”

“Dead.” George’s voice softened. “Valerie Mackenzie was killed in a car accident three weeks ago. I’m very sorry.”

Three weeks. Val had been dead for three weeks, and there had been a funeral, and he hadn’t known about it. He’d probably been at practice, giving Korvash a hard time about his footwork, and she’d already been gone.

Val had come to Greenwood Hollow the previous summer on a three-month contract and told him from the beginning that she wasn’t staying. He’d told her he wasn’t asking her to. They’d seen each other a couple of times a week for most of that time, and it had been fun and easy and they’d never pretended it was anything other than what it was. At the end of her contract, she’d kissed him goodbye and driven away. He’d relegated her to the category of pleasant memories and moved on.

He had no idea she’d taken something with her when she left.

“She never told me.”

“No.” George cleared his throat again and looked down at the neatly arranged papers in front of him. “According to the documentation she left, Ms. Mackenzie made that decision alone. Her will identifies you as Charlotte’s father and names you as the person she wished to assume guardianship in the event of her death.”

He looked at Charlie again.

Val had known she was pregnant and hadn’t called him. Even if she hadn’t known when she left, at some point she’d realized and made the decision not to call him. She’d had his daughter and hadn’t called him. She’d spent six months raising this little person while he went on living his life without the slightest idea she existed.

He should have been angry. He suspected he was going to be, later, when there was room for it. Right now, there wasn’t room for anything except the baby sitting eighteen inches away from him, chewing thoughtfully on her fist.

“There will be a formal paternity confirmation,” George continued. “That’s standard and shouldn’t be taken as a challenge to Ms. Mackenzie’s wishes. The court simply requires documentation. Following confirmation, we can petition for permanent guardianship. In the interim⁠—”

“Mr. Barrington.”

A woman had been quietly sitting in the third chair, and he suddenly realized she had been watching him for some time. Mildred Prescott was somewhere past sixty, with short grey hair, sensible shoes, and a well-washed cardigan. She was regarding him with a cool, grey gaze that reminded him uneasily of his third grade teacher.

George adjusted his reading glasses. “Yes, Ms. Prescott?”

“That baby is going to be hungry in about twenty minutes.” Mildred glanced at her watch. “I’ve found over the years that legal explanations go better when nobody is screaming.”

George actually paled a little. “Perhaps you should proceed.”

“Thank you.” Mildred turned to him. “Do you have a car seat?”

“No.”

“A crib?”

“No.”

“Formula? Bottles? Diapers?”

“No.”